Drabbles
by winter156
Summary: Vignettes of moments in various characters lives of the ME universe.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: These are just drabbles that pop into my head. They consist of different topics, different pairing, and different stories generally. I'm using them as a practice tool mostly. That said, I'll take any prompts you would like me to take a stab at. Words, phrases, ideas, anything you'd like to suggest either PM me or leave a review.

* * *

**Change the World**

"Mommy," came the sleepy voice of the six-year old snuggled under the blankets.

"Yes, darling," Hannah turned from the datapad she was reading to her ever curious daughter, wondering what questions or comments she would have. She smiled as the tiny child pulled herself up slightly to look her mother in the eye.

"I'm going to change the world when I grow up," her small face set itself in solid determination, her little shoulders straightening, and the sleep tugging at her eyes disappearing in her focus.

Hannah's smile widened at the comment as she moved to sit beside the girl. Tucking a stray lock of hair behind a small ear, she leaned close to kiss her daughter's forehead. "You do realize," Hannah tilted the small face up to her, holding it gently, "that the world is bigger than this ship." At the definitive nod, Hannah ventured to ask, "So how do you plan on changing the world, darling?"

"I'll always do the right thing," the small head nodded again before a yawn stopped further elaboration. "I'll be just like you," the tiny voice informed Hannah as the child crawled into her mother's lap and promptly fell asleep.

* * *

**Miranda Cares About More Than Just Her Sister**

Miranda is many things, deceiver and liar included. But, she has never lied to herself. By some mysterious internal moral compass, the former Cerberus operative maintains a rigid honesty with herself. So, she freely admits that it is a bit narcissistic to love her sister so fiercely. Oriana is, after all, simply an exact copy (several years her junior) of her own genes. By all rights, her sister is just herself fifteen years younger. The fact remains, however, that Miranda loves Oriana and little else.

Except, perhaps, impossibly, Jack. Pushed up against a half-blown-out wall, gasping for breath, on the precipice of release as the very galaxy comes to an end, fingers digging into a tattooed back, hips grinding against an unexpectedly gentle hand, Miranda must admit she cares about more than just her sister.

* * *

**It Only Happens in Fairy Tales**

Clutching your bleeding side, you grip the gun in your other hand harder in a vain attempt to quell the pain. Every step you take sends shooting pain through every neuron still functioning in your system. The broken bones in your chest grate against the muscle and soft tissue covering your lungs. Breathing has become harder; you suspect that one of your ribs has ripped through your lung. You cough up blood as you come to a stop before the choices in front of you. _Is choice really choice when you have no choice at all in the matter?_ The thought flits through your mind as your face pulls into a grotesque semblance of a smile, completely devoid of mirth but your face muscles twitching in realization of an eternal, immutable truth: saving the world, getting the girl, living happily ever after are things that only happen in fairy tales.


	2. Chapter 2

**Like an old married couple**

Shepard's patience finally snapped. She whirled on the two bickering women and glared at them so pointedly they immediately stopped talking. "You two are driving me insane," the Commander's voice was slightly crazed, "You bicker constantly like an old married couple." Another death glare kept any comments to the statement from being spoken. "Fuck already to get it out of your systems. But, for God's sake, shut up."

Two pretty mouths dropped open as an exasperated Shepard stalked out of their immediate vicinity. Miranda, ever the pragmatic, recovered first, "Well, that was uncalled for."

Jack stared after the Commander her brow furrowed in thought. The silence that stretched on in the aftermath of the comment was beginning to get awkward. Brown eyes slid over the tight leathers the Cerberus officer wore, blood thrumming arousal pleasantly through Jack at the blatant display of perfection. "Fuck," she spat in disgust at the unwanted attraction, "she may have a point."

* * *

**Unjust**

The gun feels like it's fused to your hand. _Fitting,_ you think darkly as you double over in pain. Back bent at your waist, hands on your knees, barely keeping yourself upright you watch with detached fascination as the liquid carrying your life stains the floor beneath your dirty boots. You feel yourself smile insanely at the cosmic irony of it all.

You stumble forward a few steps innately knowing that the severe limp and crippling pain shooting up your leg means your ankle is broken; badly if the pain is any indication. You stop again. Breathing is becoming a significantly harder task to accomplish. You pull your hand away from your side and aren't shocked to see it completely stained deep red with your blood. You can feel the broken ribs protruding through your skin and scraping jaggedly against the armor burned onto your epidermis.

Forcing yourself to move a few more steps, you suspect one of the broken ribs has punctured a lung. The extremely pronounced shortness of breath and the horrible ache in your chest makes you certain one of your lungs has collapsed and the other is likely filling with blood. If you don't hurry, you'll drown in your own blood before you can finish this mission.

You try to laugh at the idea of dying so pathetically only a few feet from ending this whole war. The noise that escapes your throat is a rumbled gurgle that sounds as if you're about to choke. You absently wish shock would set in so you don't have to feel so damn much. Your mind is beginning to get fuzzy. And, the pain feels like it's literally radiating from every single nerve ending still alive in your body.

You grip the gun harder ignoring as blood drips from your nose, forehead and mouth to splatter on the pristine floor where no organic has ever stepped foot on before you. You suddenly realize how tired you are. You feel a bone deep weariness leaching your soul of its energy.

Wiping away the blood dripping into your eyes, you have a moment of sudden clarity. You've known this would be the end. You knew from the moment Anderson threw those dog tags back at you; the moment you fled a burning Earth. You would not escape this war alive. But, at this moment, faced with your own mortality you can't help but feel relief. An utter, inexplicable liberation garnered by a sense of finally resting your weary soul from the exhausting job of being the galaxy's hope.

You can't fault the galaxy for their need to have faith in something. You know they needed a symbol; a hero to rally behind. You know they needed the comfort that only the elusive quality of hope provided. _Hope_. The word bounces around in your head as you move listlessly toward your goal. You cynically think that hope is the cruelest of sentient emotions. It's the expectation of something unattainable, the self feeding delusion that you can overcome if you just never give up. Even though you are about to fulfill the galaxy's hope, you scoff at the idea. Not because you don't believe in it, but because you're its sole arbiter, its tool; and you don't feel comforted by it, but abused of it.

Shaking your head, you try to dust of the thought that the only thing worse than hope, is _being_ hope for someone else. The incredible weight of such expectation is overwhelming. Your mind travels to Wrex and his demand for a genophage cure. The impossibility of curing a one-thousand-year plague making you weary even before you attempted it. Add on top of that an attempt to appease an unscrupulous salarian populace and the stress of it was nauseating. Then brokering a peace between two warring nations that had been at war for longer than the human race had existed in galactic politics was near paralyzing in its intensity. And then, the utter failure on Thessia where you were expected to show up and magically turn the tide of a full on Reaper invasion of the planet was devastating. Thessia was by far the most crushing because it's where you showed you were only human; where everyone's hope was misplaced.

But worst of all is your crew, you think almost bitterly as you ignore the agonizing pain making you break out in a cold sweat. Your crew saw you bloody, tired, and weak but held you on some sort of pedestal. Even though all you wanted was to be supported, bolstered and encouraged they assumed it wasn't their place. The acrid, bitter taste of blood in your mouth sours further as you think back to every moment, every conversation.

The hope, the faith, the expectation placed on you during this war is crushing in its weight. You feel it grind you down until you feel pulverized by its heaviness. You can't escape it. You are even haunted by the specter of it in your dreams. But, you know that what everyone sees in you is strength and determination. And, that makes you feel guilty for resenting them their hope. You know it's all they have to hang on to; all they have to live on.

You know it's the duty and the responsibility of the strong to protect the weak. Breathing in broken gasps now, you stumble the last few steps to your goal. Wiping more blood from your face, you absently wonder who protects the strong when they are weak. Swaying slightly where you stand, you blink your eyes quickly to bring the world into focus. Looking up, you see the last battle of this cycle being waged.

Focusing your tired eyes back on the task at hand, you can't help but think the hope of the galaxy is a heavy burden to bear. It crushes you (even now) under its weight. But, with the end so near in sight, you shoulder its load squarely one more time. Straightening, you lift your gun and walk toward your end arrogantly, proudly, unafraid. Every shot resounds loudly as you empty your clip and the crucible readies to fire.

You blink and are engulfed in a blaze of red. You close your eyes one last time. You float on a gust of heat before your pain disappears.

And for the first time in what feels like ages, you feel peace.


End file.
